I Do It For The Wobbles.

There’s not much you can do to help anybody, you can only love them hard enough for them to know that somebody else cares for their fuck-ups for when they don’t, so that when they don’t remember to do that for themselves they have that constant reminder that their breathing pattern still counts into circulating the air around you.

Was a long day today. Had two classes, I slept well too; my body just decided to shut down for 12 hours. I have another one of those all-dayer-no-nighters tomorrow, then it’s the weekend. It’s odd how sleeping hours are something you toss around the week rather than have as a constant every day. How fucked up can life be for one to bargain sleep to get a life when they still want to get work down? It’s not right. But then again nothing is right and wrong anymore, there’s what works and what doesn’t, what you can live with and what pushes your buttons. That’s all there is to it really. That’s the one thing to get down in order to ‘grow up’.

I couldn’t find my crows today. The tree – the one I used to watch – had a beautiful little nest of crows up where no other creature could reach. I watched two generations of those from my desk; my tiny little hang out on the remote side of our flat. I had it laid out with all my stuff there for when I wanted to shut out the world and I used to put a blanket and a couple of pillows on top of the desk and just lie there on the ledge and watch em with my laptop or phone or whatever. I watched while the little ones grew up and started to move around the farther branches, then flew around a bit and constantly crashed back into the nearest extension. Then I watched as they moved out and kept coming back every other week. Then they were just gone over the winter. The nest is undone, it’s this little desolate wreck now, slightly tumbling out of place. I wonder what happened to the old couple. They didn’t move that much towards the end. Where do crows go to die? How come I never see any carcasses lying around under trees? Is it nature’s way of telling us she can handle her own shit without our pathetic efforts of cleaning up after it? Hell, we can hardly clean after ourselves, no? I miss my crows.

I sang in the cab today. Loud off-key singing that one only sings in showers because only bathroom tiles can be that accepting. My mom was mortified, I didn’t really care. I sang Nelly’s ‘Just A Dream’ to the cabby’s Laila Mourad – or some other chick – as a background. He didn’t really mind that much. I guess it gets really boring that you just take whatever the hell the people do for kicks, you know?

My maths teacher thought I was spaced out and asked me about a bit in the advanced function he kept on the side of the whiteboard for the psychological effect of it, for when everybody gets a little too out of hand and he just wants them to shut up and listen to him again. I got it right, that felt nice. Needless to say, he couldn’t shut them up afterwards. Fuck yeh.

Everything’s gonna be alright. It’ll be just fine.

Raspberry Yoghurt Ice Cream <3

I Slept.

I fell asleep, for sometime. And it felt nice for a change. I slept for a good 10 hours and my neck is aching to complement one of those headaches you get when you sleep too much and it feels like your brain is cramping up your forehead but I’m relishing the groggy pain. I didn’t dream, and thank god I didn’t. I think enough when I’m awake; I don’t wanna think when I’m asleep too. Brain activity my ass, I wanna die for a while.

Love is in the air and everybody’s having that same love high I once had before I realized - Tom & Jerry style - that I’m in the middle of the air 8 storeys high from the ground and then crashed headfirst into it. It’s making me sick, to be honest. I constantly feel the need to hug a pillow and turn into the outline of a comma in the bed sheets.

3ayza anzel marga3sh. And nobody would notice. And it will feel awesome. And I’ll be fine.

0_0

I have to be ready for finals in a couple of months. It’s not only intimidating, but..well, it’s just that actually. It's scaring me shitless actually. I stared at the ceiling for almost two hours today and I wasn’t half bored, that’s how (0_0) I am right now. I’m not ready yet. I doubt I will be actually, I should’ve been working harder throughout the year. Talk about bad timing.

Nobody Cares.

Of Assholes And..Well..Assholes.

‘Have you ever found yourself surrounded by too many friends and loving family members? Have you ever wished you could just make them all go away? Sure, we all have. Unfortunately, there isn't a quick and easy way to make this happen... until now! Presenting the complete guide on how to be a complete and total asshole.

So, an asshole is a contemptible person. But isn't he/she so much more?

Isn't it true that there is a whole lifestyle behind assholity?

Most of you might think that and it's most likely true, because if an asshole was just any contemptible person, wouldn't that make every single member of the entire population of the world an asshole?

Wouldn't that make it really, really easy to become one?

Wouldn't that take away the entire craftsmanship of becoming a true, fine young asshole?

I think to most sensible people, the answer would be "Yes".’

Script to "Anything else” is awesome. Read it.

Knowledge is a powerful ugly thing.

Of Moms And Cookies.

I don’t deserve my family, I really don’t. They’re too good to be true. I didn’t get anything for my mom on mother’s day. I’d set the alarm clock to 9 am so I can spend the day with her and maybe we could go out on one of those mall marathons she loves so much, but I overslept. When I asked her she said that she thought I was too tired so she let me sleep. She didn’t think that mom’s day was worth interrupting my sleep. She even cancelled class so I’d sleep since my sleeping pattern has been messed up for a couple of months, can you believe that? She spent the whole day getting her mom friends gifts for mother’s day. She even got one for her receptionist so she wouldn’t feel left out when she really didn’t have to. She got my grandma comfortable slip-in shoes since her knee isn’t the same anymore. God I feel like a sack of shit for not getting her anything. Grandma doesn’t quite get the theory of mom’s day, she got me cookies because she thinks that mother’s day is when mothers get gifts for their daughters and granddaughters. I hate to burst her bubble and to tell you the truth, you can’t quite say no to chocolate-caramel cookies. How can somebody love someone so unconditionally? If I was my own mom and I was getting this kind of treatment with not a tinge of appreciation I would’ve flipped the bird on everybody and took off shoe-shopping with the month’s allowance. I mean, come on, I compliment my Grandma’s scarf and I end up debating her into not giving it to me for the next 15 minutes. Do these people still exist?

I just saw a hashtag on twitter about the last thing you prayed for. The last thing I prayed for was a cab.

Of Pink Index Fingers, Cars And Hibernation.

I’d forgotten how nice taking a break from people felt. It’s so liberating, you know. I’ve had a perfectly nice day; I brushed up on my rusty piano skills, watched an episode of Skins, checked my e-mails, took a nap, had tea, and I’m just 4 hours into it. I’ve got to work on my Maths assignments and probably a little bit of Chem on the side. Everything’s just suddenly so real all of a sudden. That’s probably why one’s meant to stay in one’s head. I’m gonna have to get my day back upright sometime, but as long as things are getting done then I don’t really mind. It doesn’t really make that much of a difference.

This is stupid but, I was in the car with dad yesterday and the ride home was gonna take about 40 minutes or so. I stretched and watched the sky from the car window, and I remembered how when I was a kid I used to lie on my back in the backseat all the ride home from work – because both of my mom and dad have jobs so they used to drag me along up until the age of 8 when grandma decided to assume the role of babysitting that she dropped when we moved out at the age of 6 – and just watch the constellations. I’d always ask dad the same question over and over again just to have him tell me a story and he’d tell it all over again. “Are we following the stars or are the stars following us?” Then he’d say: “It depends on how you look at it”, followed by a really long lecture dumbed down to the mind of an 8-year-old about how the earth is round. And then mom would always say: “Or the stars could be following us home.” I remember being so satisfied, and how I sometimes fell asleep and dad would speed up all of a sudden and hit the brakes just for kicks and I’d end up a ball on the floor board. I’m not going anywhere with this, I just had this memory at the back of my head for so long that it seems it belongs to another life. I can’t believe I’d forgotten about it. It’s odd.

I voted today. I felt so big, like I ruled the universe. I was, however, the shortest adult there. I had three really annoying chicks in front of me who kept spraying perfume in the air and talking flirtatiously because they know they’re being watched. They had really large bags with all sorts of stupid chick objects in them, notebooks and perfume, little make-up bags, cell phones and just mainly a lot of clutter that they’re never gonna use. Why are they walking around with their entire toiletry articles? In my head they were just mobile toilet cabins. They made fun of the school and the people there, they were mean to the people who asked around, they made a huge deal out of the fact that at sometime when we were standing in line they had to pass by the restroom. They added brushed accents that lapsed when the sentence got longer. I just got so, I dunno, pissed, somehow. They never did anything to hurt me so I realise I’m being judgemental, but the whole contrast, I don’t know, it’s pissed me off. I hate chicks, I really do. Never quite digested the mechanisms of being one and am quite repelled by em plastics. I’m probably jelling, but whatever, it’s my blog, so sue me. My dad was so excited about the whole process. He got up early to vote and called me from work to explain the routine, they were both at work when I got around to it so I got confused a lot and kept asking everybody what to do next. It wasn’t that long of a walk from home, and there were so many people there. Everybody was so cheerful and politically active, they all made jokes and everybody was suddenly nice to everybody. The whole air to the place was very..warm. There were a couple of channels covering it, and needless to say they overlooked the entire line of sweaty citizens and right up to the chick clan that got all squeaky chorusing “ta7ya masr” and topping it off with a giggle. I should’ve been born a dude. Seriously, there I was, with my nerdy glasses, my tank top and a little bag where I’d stuffed in a book, my phone and a water bottle. Meh. It was really odd using my ID card for the first time. I’m an adult..wow..haha. “Adult”. Right.

Black Swan Much?

Taking a day off feels good, just the whole not waiting that comes along with laying back. Nothing’s probing at you or necessarily pulling at your sleeves like a tiny little bugger that constantly needs attention but doesn’t necessarily know what to do with it when it actually gets it. Taking an indefinite vacation from people feels awesome every once in a while, in a way that only detachment can.

I don’t know what to talk about, they’re either too personal or I’m just too fagged. Ever felt fagged from doing absolutely nothing for so long that your brain cells are begging you for activation?

I’ve come to the conclusion that the psyche functions much like the body in some ways, only that it doesn’t really probe at you for execution the way your body might. You might get dizzy and throw up at first because your body is refusing what you’re ingesting, but it will get used to it after a while then you get dizzy when you don’t. That’s how all transition phases are like, they’re painful and you have no idea what the fuck you’re doing half the time. The psyche is much like that, except that you don’t get dizzy on detoxing or addiction, your psychological tummy takes a couple of tumbles then it moves on to it’s usual munching and nomming. I think that’s probably because if the psyche actually does react as diligently as the body does then we’d all probably be convulsing all over the place. You could say that if it’s giving you too much junk mail then if left untended your account will automatically deactivate itself once it has run through the storage quota. So, somehow in the way we’ve been engineered, the junk mail makes way as spam sometimes and into the inbox at others, then the junk mail folder wipes itself out every week. However, those that made their way into the inbox stay there till you’ve run through the whole limited storage and your account stops working. Then you send a longass complaint to Microsoft that it inevitably decoys by an automatic reply which is never looked into, and all you’re left with is a couple of saved e-mails and an inactive good-for-nothing account on a pseudo space. You know?

Something’s just wrong, and everybody gets the urge of pointing it out to you; because you just can’t go wrong. You’re not allowed to. You’ve gotta be perfect, spotless. If you do go wrong or slip a little then you’re in for it. Some will poke around at it and have a little fun while you’re down, because they can. Some will remind you of every zit you’ve ever had the nerve to sport and make sure to pop so it turns into a scar that never goes away no matter how many ointments you dab it with, and some just make their own special mission to put you in just the right fluorescent-lighted room where everybody can see just how much you’ve spiralled. And it’s all your fault, for telling. I should have stayed mute when I could. There’s a reason people are not wired so they’d not auto-telepath. It’s because when you’re actually down people don’t help, they poke fun and probe, they chip away at it and remind you how much of a disappointment you’ve been, and how their philanthropist efforts have all gone to waste. Then they go back to whatever the hell they were doing a couple of minutes earlier feeling a little better having vibed out a halo out of their ass.

I’m Done Talking.

Life Lesson #179: Nobody hangs around. It’s because it’d be really boring if they did. That’s what they do stuff to keep it exciting, like extortion. But then again life can get a little too exciting sometimes, you know? But theoretically speaking, you can’t pass out for smoking too fast, or can you? You can. Until you’re used to the nicotine intake apparently. Metaphorically speaking, can one get used to a certain life intake? Do they get addicted to it? Do they experience withdrawal when it’s not quite there anymore? Fakis.

Is it just me or is Dexter’s family look like they’re meth-hyped? And why does Dexter have an Italian accent?

No more.

Squiggles.

I’m dizzy. I’ve got a lot to do. I slept tho, which is good, for a change. I just passed out kinda. I can’t quite seem to be able to sleep for more than 5 hours in a row, it’s weird. You know when your dizzy and it seems like your head is responding to centrifugal force of gravity rather than the centripetal and it feels like your brain is getting sucked up towards the ceiling pulling on your eyeballs with your skull still hanging on to dear life? Yeh it’s like that. It kept squiggling too.

What’s squiggling? I think I just made that up.

That’s a squiggly    –>   ~

Yeh.

Burnout.

I found a sock in my sweater pocket today. I have no idea how the hell it got there, and I’m not gonna even try and find out. It was a clean sock tho. That’s a pro..I guess.

I smiled at a stranger today, he didn’t think I was flirting, so that’s nice. Two seconds later I found out he was a neighbour. Hm. I’ve been living here for the most part of my life and I didn’t know that.

I didn’t have coffee, I had tea, for some strange masochistic reason.

I slept standing up for a while. Leaning against a pillow on the wall. And no I dunno how the pillow got there or why, if I could actually get a pillow, I didn’t choose to sleep on the bed.

It took me a little less than an hour to figure out that my friend was talking about a magazine and a newspaper, it was after he’d done telling me the story. He chose to nap and not kill me, which is also a pro..in a way.

I set an ice cream date two weeks away. Yep. I’m actually that busy.

My MSN stopped working for  a while. And I realized that it doesn’t really matter that much..then I got Trillian.

I feel like writing in blue. But I won’t. Yes I will.

Euuh, next post.

Pros To Assholism.

The hardest part with ultimatums is following through with them when you don’t have anything else stopping you except your own conscious choice. There’s always the possibility that it could all be in your head; that you’re imagining stuff and projecting your shit onto other people. And then there’s the unvarying truth that however the hell that may work out, its existence gets under your skin, doesn’t it? Then it has to go. However that came to be.

But that’s not true is it?

You can never know if things are just in your head or are actually happening.

That’s why there are no ultimatums.

And that’s why people continue to feel like shit when they needn’t, and learn to handle it and live with it.

Then they learn to make other people feel like shit so that they’d feel better.

And the one person on whom the ultimatum should’ve been inflicted turns to tens and thousands.

When you could’ve just been mean to one person.

So, mathematically speaking, assholes are actually philanthropists.

That’s why we should be assholes, all of us, because that’s just the right way.

Right in its secular sense.

Of Complexes And Stupid Movies.

I hate when I keep staring at a blank post. There’s always so many things I wanna say but the publish button won’t let me. I’ve been staring into space more than often lately, ever since I’ve had a painful realization shoved up my psychological ass, and I’m discovering the therapeutic pros of TV. I watched ‘Good Will Hunting’ twice for some reason, and despite the fact that I thought the shrink was a self-indulged Irish prick and the ending to be absolutely pointless to everything that was put forward about the dude’s major complex, it was nice. I mean, if the dude’s problem is that he has a defence mechanism that makes him push people away whenever they get close to him so he wouldn’t get hurt because he’s been abandoned so many times in his life and shit, then how, just HOW, is leaving everybody who ever gave a fuck about him in the end to chase a random chick cross country considered progress? Just enlighten me people. He had 3 cronies who’d take a bat to the dean’s head on cue, a college professor who took out his insecurities on to him but ended up giving him an awesome job opportunity because he’s just stupid like that and a middle-aged dude who eventually turned into a father figure. And he leaves. And it’s a happy ending. And I’m a phoenix. Healing would have been to stay behind, man up and take the fucking job. Not wimp out and follow your loins cross-state.

My head. Somebody shoot me. Please. I’ll give you anything. Pleaaaaase. Fuck you.

Get Lost And Then Get Found.

There’s a certain oddness to how somebody would react to disappointment. What’s even more odd is how that disappointment does all the work for you. That little piece of news makes what you’ve been working at the entire year just..happen. It makes your efforts a joke, and you still thank it. Then you file a petition to make ‘eye suitcases’ a part of the Merriam-Webster dictionary.

I’ve got a busy week ahead, and I’ve developed a certain disinclination towards Msn Messenger. Msn is an evil place. IM’ing is plain evil. It makes all the little virtual entities in your head just a little more tangible and interactive enough to drive you to a full-blown psychosis. Fuck em. Fuck em. FUCK EM.

Helwan.

And I Said Maybe.

#177: There are many things that I’d like to say to you but I dunno how.

#178: Screw you.

Oh Man Is A Giddy Thing.

Time is weird. I had this comic as a kid, and in the Christmas issue there was this story about how Santa used to steal our time and give it to his worker elves so that they could use it to deliver the gifts to kids all over the world because it took such a long time to get it all down and then give it back to us during the rest of the year, which is why dentist appointments or business meetings always feel longer than they really are. I remember, even as a kid, thinking how cruel that must be. He could have easily gotten out of giving gifts by juggling bits and pieces of time to make happier phases last longer and painful ones seemingly shorter, and that’s when I hated Santa for being such a show off. If he cared about making people happy and being an actual philanthropist then he wouldn’t really care about his rep at our expense, no? And if that’s true, wouldn’t karma mind? After all, the happy memories tend to the wellbeing of one’s psyche and in turn make him work at a good karma more efficiently. Which leaves us with the dilemma that karma and Santa might not be on such good terms, and we’re the ones paying for it, twofold.

Fuck memories.

HA. haha. ha. ahahah. haha. ha.

Just because I’m hurting doesn’t mean I’m hurt, doesn’t mean I didn’t get what I deserved, no better or no worse.

Hah.

What pisses me off is that I never actually get it down. Stuff doesn’t go away, you just learn to live with it. Thing is, how many stuff am I gonna have to learn to live with before I’m old enough to forget everything I ever learned? What if that idea scares me enough to have me make sure I never grow that old? Even if it means..nevermind.

Queef

If dreams show the deepest wanting of your soul then I’m utterly fucked. I can’t believe I dreamt that. That’s bad. Aw shit.

Sick. Sick sick sick sick siiiiiiiick. SICK.

So aaaaaaaanywho.

I’ve had a good couple of days. Hung out with people, which was nice. It may be stupid but it’s the little outings on the weekend that make me go through the week partially sane.

I had Herring, white chocolate, eggs and cheese for breakfast, a root beer and 2 coffees. I don’t feel so good.

It took me 93 minutes to get out of bed.

Uh, later.